


you must be kind, you must be witty (very sweet and fairly pretty)

by thispapermoon



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017), The Worst Witch - All Media Types
Genre: Dimity Drill is the chimney sweep because BrOoMs, Edwardian AU, F/F, Hecate does not, Hicsqueak, Two witches in love, julie is a kitchen maid, magic is in this story but it comes a lot later, mary poppins/sound of music AU, pippa is gonna upend her worldddd, the kid's ad for a nanny is basically a dating ad for Hecate and they KNOW it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:11:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispapermoon/pseuds/thispapermoon
Summary: Hecate Hardbroom is a spinster maiden aunt who has been left in charge of her rakish brother’s brood of illegitimate children upon his death. What she lacks in maternal instinct, she more than makes up for in her dogged desire to see that each and every girl in her charge receives a top education - so much so that she takes their studies into her own hands to see that it’s done properly. But soon, growing troubles with the estate pull her from the schoolroom and she finds herself fighting to protect the girls from utter destitution. Overwhelmed, she finds it necessary to engage a governess.Requirements? Formidable. Bluenosed. Disinclined to wear pink.Pippa Pentangle is none of those things. But she’s here to stay, and Hecate finds there’s little she can do about it.****Mary Poppins/Sound of Music AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I lost my mind on tumblr a few hours ago and feverishly churned this out. I have SO much head canon for this fic already. I'm SO excited. (And also horrified that now I regularly write AUs? I am so confused by myself?)
> 
> omg but can you imagine:
> 
> Pippa: The little ones just want to be loved, oh please, Captain, love them - love them more!  
> Hecate: I don't care to hear anything more from you about my children.  
> Pippa: I am not finished yet !  
> Hecate: Oh ! yes ! you ! are ! Captain ! 
> 
> *sexual tension nears m a x i m u m c a p a c i t y*
> 
> i'm dead. completely.

Ada has just finished recounting to Hecate the recent lecture she’s missed as part of the gala series for the Natural History Museum’s thirtieth anniversary when there’s a crash, followed by a scream, and a sudden pounding of heavy footsteps on the stairs. Hecate rises, looking at Ada chagrined resignation, and Ada follows behind her as they start across the room towards the thumping, screeching, banging that comes ever closer. 

The heavy wooden door to Hecate's study flies open before Hecate even has a chance investigate the source of the racket. 

“Frogs!” Ms. Bluet shrieks, face red, wiry, gray hair falling in frizzy tendrils around her face as she stands quaking in fury, her high-necked nightdress rumpled, her sleeping cap askew. “Frogs, in my bed!”

Seething she rounds on Hecate, jowls quivering.

“Pepper in my tea last night. Glue on my toothbrush day before that. _Crickets_ on the tea cakes. Hidden slippers. Hidden _brasier._ Pinecone on my chair at dinner. Honey in my hairbrush.” She punctuates each grievance with a thrust of her finger towards the center of Hecate’s chest. “You are not raising children, you are raising _heathens_.”

The force of her words sends spittle flying towards Hecate’s face and she curls her fingers into the folds of her dress, urging herself to remain impassive.

“That will do, Ms. Bluet.”

But Ms. Bluet is not finished. “Unconventional, that’s what this is. Knew it as soon as I took the post. You might be raising them in a fancy house, with fancy clothes and books, but that doesn’t mean they are little more than - ”

“Ms. Bluet,” Hecate interrupts. “Might I remind you of the contract you signed when taking this post. It is a legally binding document. But perhaps you would prefer my lawyers to remind you instead.”

The woman’s mouth opens and closes and she glares at Hecate in righteous indignation. “I render my resignation. Effective immediately. _Immediately._ ”

She turns on her heel, storming back out the door and into the foyer with an exaggerated limp. Hecate looks down, finds that only one foot is shod in a slipper, and winces.

Ada, a true friend and singular spot of solace in Hecate’s ever turbulent life, already has Ms Bluet ’s coat held out for her. 

“I’ll send for my things in the morning,” the governess fumes, cloak swinging over her night dress as Ada holds open the door. “I shan’t be coming back for it myself. Hell would have to freeze over first before I tangle with those monsters you call children again.”

She storms out and the door snicks shut behind her with abrupt finality.

“Good riddance.” Ada sighs, and wipes her hands together as though glad to be rid of something distasteful. “It’s rather a good thing it’s your housekeeper’s night off. What a scene.”

“Yes, well,” Hecate murmurs, still trying to collect her thoughts at the sudden disruption to their evening. “Ms. Bluet not the first - as well you know - and will likely not be the last, I’m afraid.”

Ada doesn’t reply but merely lifts her brows, eyes looking beyond Hecate’s shoulder.

Slowly, stomach cramping, Hecate turns and gazes up the stairwell to see five pairs of tiny feet peeking out below the hems of long white nightdresses, and above that, just as many wide little eyes staring solemnly down at her.

Sybil has tears streaming down her face where she stands clutching at Mildred’s hand, and Mildred, in turn, clutches the well worn teddy bear that hardly seems to leave her side at night. Edward had given it to her in a rare moment of thoughtfulness, and Hecate swallows hard. On the stair above, Enid is studying her toes guiltily, while Felicity sniffles, nose red. Behind her, Ethel lurks in the shadows, a hard look on her face.

Hecate sighs again, eyes sweeping over the lot of them. They stare at her and she stares back.

Beside her, Ada steps forward. “Would you like me to -”

Hecate lets out a long breath of relief.

“Please. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble,” Ada touches her arm and Hecate tries not to stiffen. “I do miss putting down my little ones before they were grown.”

“Then I am in your debt,” Hecate murmurs, turning away. “I’ll post the position in the morning.”

Behind her she hears Ada move towards the stairs and start ushering the children back to the floors above. She closes her study door on the sound of small feet toiling up the stairs and sinks into a chair by the empty fireplace, pinching the bridge of her nose.

It was bad enough that her lascivious, rascal of a brother had bedded nearly every woman in London during his short time on earth. But his untimely death, and its leading to her suddenly inheriting the wardship of nearly half a dozen urchins, was hardly what was expected of the illustrious heirs to the Hardbroom family name. But her life, tied as it is through the law of inheritance that of her renegade brother, it seems, has been full of the unexpected. Such as the unexpected revelation that Edward had produced four offspring, all by different woman, within the span of a single year.

And while he had a heart big enough to take in the children from their unfortunate, unwed mothers, it was small enough to leave him without the inclination, or the interest, of caring for his kin once they were housed under own roof.

Edwards misdeeds were scandalous enough that he’d not only bedded _Hallow_  in his philanderings, but bedded her oft enough to have produced not one, but two, illicit daughters from her before she died.

Hecate tries not to think of Ethel’s stony face or the tears upon young Sybil’s cheeks.

She pinches the bridge of her nose again and inhales sharply.

There’s a tap on the door and she calls out entry. Ada appears before her looking worried.

“The children have gone down. They were no trouble.”

“Because they like you.” Hecate mutters, still pinching at her nose.

Ada sighs. “It’s no trouble if you need me to stay for a few days to look after them until you find a replacement.”

Hecate shakes her head and gestures Ada down into a chair. “We will have to manage. We have before.” She rings a bell beside her own chair to call for tea. “It’s not befitting your position to be looking after a brood of - “

Ada smiles a little. “Before you finish that sentence, I bid you to consider its irony.” She gives Hecate a significant look and Hecate sniffs.

“You mean that here I am, a spinster, and the unexpected heir of a markedly old and prominent family, suddenly raising five illegitimate children and trying to keep afloat an estate that I am not equipped to -”

“You’re doing just fine,” Ada soothes, and Hecate purses her lips as a young maid with curly brown hair brings in a tea tray and deposits on on the table between them before taking her leave.

Hecate waits until the door closes before she responds. “Another letter came today. About the status of the children and the estate.”

“More bad news?” Ada looks up from pouring tea and Hecate accepts a cup, fingernails clinking against the porcelain.

“It won’t be an easy fight to win. The documents Edward left behind might not be enough to protect them. It could put us all at risk - this house - the inheritance - our business interests. The Hallows’ are industrious as ever - anyway they can find to lay hands on Hardbroom fortune, they mean to.”

“And should they find out that two of the girl’s in your care are Hallow by blood -”

Hecate puts her teacup down, suddenly sick with anxiety. “Illegitimately so, but yes. And even a family as ruthless about bloodlines would make an exception if it meant acquiring the Hardbroom holdings. You’re the only other soul who knows.”

“It’s a trust I don’t take lightly,” Ada assures her. “Horrible what happened to that poor girl.” Ada’s eyes go glassy, remembering.

And Hecate remembers too. Remembers Sybil and Ethel’s mother. Young when Sybil was born, younger still at the birth of Ethel. Beautiful, but far too young, hardly into womanhood at the first pregnancy. Hecate purses her lips recalling how Evelaine - that was her name, a name lovely as she was, fragile and a little sad, Hecate thinks - had concealed each pregnancy from her infamously puritanical family, delivering in the very rooms above. And dying there as well.

Hecate clenches her jaw at the recollection.

Evelaine’s death - a sudden onset of consumption while the girl visiting Hecate for tea, or so Edward had told the family after he’d paid his retained doctor a hefty sum for concealing the true cause - hadn’t lended to repairing the long standing feud between the Hardbroom’s and the Hallows. In fact, it had only heightened their decades long animosity. 

And she knows what else her brother had gotten up to in the rooms above and what he'd done in the darkened bedrooms of London women. She wonders sometimes if there are any more children out there, wandering the streets, growing up hungry and alone. Perhaps a little girl with big dark eyes, and a nose too long to be pretty, and a penchant for books - if she ever learned to read. 

“Hecate?”

Hecate blinks. “Forgive me Ada, I fear I lost myself in my thoughts.”

“You do have a lot of worries to carry at the moment.” Ada peers at her, concern on her features. “Perhaps I should take my leave for the evening. Let you to write up that posting.”

“I fear no one will answer,” Hecate dispairs. “The Hardbroom name has been tarnished in recent years, and the inability to retain staff is only cause for more idle gossip about the family’s descent into disgrace.”

Ada tosses her a sympathetic look. “Well, the Hardbroom’s can always count on the friendship of the Cackle’s.” She gives a nod and rises, and Hecate rings the bell by her chair again and follows her.

“Good luck, Hecate. And good night.”

“Good night, Ada.”

Ada presses her hand as a maid appears.

Once she’s gone, Hecate sits behind her varnished, intricately carved wooden desk and puts her head in her hands. She sits utterly still, thinking hard, jumping badly when there the sound of whispering reaches her ears.

Head jerking up, she jumps again at the sight of Mildred and Enid standing before her desk, clutching at each other as they stare up at her. They'd come in so quietly, feet like shadows on the deep, plush carpet, and she takes a moment to catch her breath, gazing at them in surprise. 

She stands in one movement, resting her hands on the desk, staring down at them.

“You should be in bed.”

They shift from barefoot from barefoot, looking hesitant and guilty. There’s a sheaf of paper clutched in Mildred’s hand and Enid nudges her. “Read it,” she whispers, and Mildred throws Hecate and apprehensive look and tries to flatten the crumpled paper out against the smocking of her nightgown so that it lays flat.  

“Miss Hardbroom,” she says, and throws Enid a terrified look, but Enid nudges her again. “Miss Hardbroom. We thought we could help with the posting for a new governess. We’re so awfully sorry we made a mess of Ms. Bluet. “We thought that if we could find someone we _like_ \- “

“Who likes _us_ \- “ Enid cuts in, crossing her arms.

“- then maybe she’d stay longer -” Mildred says hopefully. “Stay forever.”

Hecate stares at them in utter bemusement. They look so hopeful, and she internally winces at the the words the girls had surely overheard directed at them this evening. How often words like that are spoken against them regardless of their presence.

“Very well,” she sighs, sinking behind her desk and frowning at the headache that pulses to life behind her right eye.

Enid nods eagerly at Mildred, and Mildred holds out the paper so they can both read from it.

“Dear future governess,” Mildred begins, voice clear.

“Five adorable siblings are in need of a beautiful, funny, smart governess.” Enid reads.

"Please be full of good cheer, please be patient, and above all, please have a good heart."

“Kindness is very important to us.” Enid nods down at her own words. “You must also be sweet and never shout if we cause a mess. And we might cause a few messes.”

Mildred’s eyes meet Hecate’s, and she drops them back down, finding her place on the page. “We’d like someone to take us on lovely outings. Like museums and the park. And we’d like for our neighbor Maud to come play with us whenever she likes. She’s our very best friend.”

“Please be the sort to give us treats. No castor oil.”

“Or porridge. We hate porridge.”

“We promise not to play tricks on you,” Enid, blushes a little, “so long as you are nice to us. And please sing songs and play games with us. We love to laugh.”

“We live with our esteemed spinster auntie. She is _very_ well educated and has taught us all our numbers and letters.” Mildred mumbles. “You should probably be able to beat her in chess.”

“That’s a must.” Enid nods.

“We know you’ll be beautiful and clever. We can’t wait to meet you.”

“Sincerely -”

“Mildred -”

“And Enid -”

“- Hardbroom. And written on behalf of our siblings, Ethel, Felicity, and Sybil Hardbroom, who are sleeping right now, but who would agree with this letter very much.”

“Especially Sybil,” Enid sighs, and she and Mildred share a look that makes Hecate swallow regretfully.

The room fills with silence and Hecate inhales slowly, unsure of how to respond to such a request. She feels awkward, and her skin suddenly feels too tight, her chest cramping as she stares at them.

“Here,” Mildred trips forward and places the page on her desk. “You can post it in the paper in the morning.”

Enid bites her lip, looking eagerly at Hecate, and Hecate sighs.

“If that’s all for the evening,” she says finally, “it’s time for bed.”

“That’s all,” Mildred says, slumping a little. She turns and wraps an arm around Enid’s shoulders. They start for the door, only to have it open as the kitchen maid appears on her way to recollect the tea tray.

“Oh, pardon me your ladyship. I thought everyone had gone up seeing how late it is. ‘Scuse the interruption.”

Her eyes flicker over the children, and then dart to Hecate’s, and she blushes, biting her lip uncertainly.

Again, Hecate has to swallow around the complication of emotions that sit heavily in her throat.

“No matter,” she says carefully, not without hesitation. “Perhaps - perhaps you would be so inclined as to take the children back upstairs? It’s long past their bedtimes.”

The maid looks startled, and for a moment she stares at Hecate at a loss. And Hecate rises, crossing around the desk, shepherding the children towards the maid. She gives an slight nod, and the maid relaxes. “If it’s not too much trouble.” She murmurs.

“No trouble.”

“Thank you, Julie.”

Julie gives her a watery smile, taking first Mildred’s hand then Enid’s.

“Come along girls. The shores of sleep await. Let’s see who can get their first.”

She guides them from the room and Hecate collapses in a chair, realizing that the girls’ letter is clutched in her hand. She squeezes her eyes shut, opens them, and gazes down at it before sighing loudly.

“Beautiful and clever.” She mutters. “I’d like to see someone _try_ to best me at chess.”

Shaking her head she stares sadly down at the list, fingers twitching. She doesn’t know how long she sits there, but eventually the clock strikes the hour and she sighs, fingers moving quickly until the letter lays in shreds upon her lap.

Slowly, she leans forward and slides the pile into the empty grate.

 _Woman like that don’t exist_ , she thinks, and sadly watches as the scraps of paper float to rest upon the sooty stone.

She tries not to think about how she’s dreamed of her.

Dreamed of her for many, many solitary years.

Longed for her.

Missed her before she’s even met her.

And she will never meet her.

No governess will come and take away the lonely, heartbroken space that haunts the the lives of these girls.

No woman will come and save Hecate from the same fate.

Tears in her eyes, Hecate rises and settles back behind the desk, plucking up her fountain pen, and gripping it tightly between her fingers until they cramp.

The sheet of paper blurs before her eyes and she takes a breath and writes:

 _Wanted:_  
_Governess for five charges._  
  
_Requirements:_  
_Must be strict, disciplined, punctual._  
_Must be modest of dress and measured in manner._  
_Highly educated in both science, literature, geography, and language._  
  
_References required._

She lays down her pen and leans back in her chair, closing her eyes.

Outside, the wind picks up.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hecate hits her head again and the woman once again joins her, ducking down to peer first at the grate, then down and around until her face is very close to Hecate’s. 
> 
> “Perhaps a trial period would be wise,” she murmurs. And Hecate can count the freckles on her nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which hecate has The Gay Panic. 
> 
> big time.

The next morning Hecate paces anxiously in the dining room, watching Mrs. Angler as she lines the staff up, doling out responsibilities for the day.

The housekeeper paces down the line, eying uniform collars and shoe laces. “Ms. Tapioca,” she stops before an oily haired woman in a cap. “Something nutritious for breakfast. Porridge and some fruit will do. The children had a great deal of excitement last night with the departure of their caretaker. A solid breakfast this morning will set them right." She addresses the collective. "I will spend much of the day in their company, so please be sure to ask questions now regarding your duties should you have them.”

She turns to the gardner, “Mr. Rowan-Webb, please ensure that all amphibians are relocated to the garden,” and then to a frail looking maid standing sleepily beside him. “Miss Bat, there’s darning to be done, please see to it by the end of day. Tabitha will bring up the basket to the sewing room.”

Coming to the end of the line, Mrs. Angler turns and heel-toes back down again, surveying the troops. “We shall be interviewing governesses this morning, so Abigale and Martina, please dust the study. We want to make our best impression.”

The maids nod and Anglers rounds on Tapioca again. “Miss Hardbroom is expecting an important guest this afternoon. As it is your half day off, we will need to arrange tea at the usual time and ensure that proper refreshments are prepared for our guest.”

Tapioca glances to her side. “Julie here runs the kitchen on me half days. The lass won’t let ye down.”

Julie’s eyes flicker to Hecate’s and then drop, a flush rising on her cheeks.

“If it pleases her ladyship.”

Hecate bows her head in acquiescence and Angler gives the dismissal, the staff shuffling off to their morning tasks.

“Julie Hubble, a word.” Hecate watches as the woman freezes and then slowly turns back. “In my study. Regarding our guests and the menu.”

Julie glances at the retreating kitchen staff but nods, trailing after Hecate into the study and shutting the door softly behind her.

“You may take a seat.”

Julie doesn’t move at first, but after a moment sits hesitantly on the edge of a chair, looking over apprehensively at Hecate as she settles across from her.

“I fear I was improper last night, asking you to take charge of the girls.”

Julie’s gaze drops and she studies her fingers. She’s quiet for a moment and when she looks up her eyes are bright.

“I didn’t mind, to be honest.” She shrugs a little. “It’s nice seeing her. From time to time.”

They’re both quiet for a moment and Hecate opens her mouth, but Julie stops her.

“I know what you’re going to ask - you want to know if I’ve changed my mind. Now that he’s gone. But she’s grown up learning books - learning about the world - and I scarcely know how to read, see. I want better for my Mildred.”

Hecate studies her. “Our guest today. He is coming to discuss the future of the girls in my ward. There’s a matter at stake as to whether or not the Hardbroom inheritance can be used to support the children of any Hardbroom born out of wedlock. Should the matter be contested, and found to be in violation, I fear there is little protection I can give the girls. Only Edward, as the male heir to the Hardbroom line, could have legitimized them - and even then, only to an extent.”

“So what are you saying,” Julie looks alarmed and Hecate shakes her head.

“I’m saying that perhaps the time has come for Mildred know her mother a little more. As a precaution against what might happen if this house can no longer shelter her.”

“You’d turn her out?” Julie gasps.

“No.” Hecate’s throat feels very tight. “The Hallow family, our nearest relations, are suing on the grounds that the children’s upbringing here is unacceptable use of the Hardbroom inheritance. Should the courts rule in their favor, then they could collect Hardbroom assets as payment for the debt. The house would pass to them and the children would be destitute.”

Again, Julie gasps, eyes wide. “But - you would be - “

Sharply, Hecate shakes her head. “I have no concern for myself. But I do know that Mildred likes to sneak down to the kitchens and that you like to make her apple tarts. I know that you’ve been teaching her to cook. I know that she talks to you. Confides in you.” Hecate stares at Julie, eyes burning as she wills herself not to blink. “Given the precarious nature of her future here, perhaps it’s best she spend time with you, best she have a familiar, comforting person to turn to, and to have learned bit of a trade.”

“But she doesn’t know I’m her mother,” Julie whispers.

“No.”

“I made you swear you wouldn’t tell her.”

“An oath I’ve kept.”

“You’ve let me stay here all these years - why?”

Hecate hesitates. Opens her mouth, rethinks her words,  closes it again before shaking her head. “My brother had his way with many women. Of the children left in my care, one mother is dead, two more unknown to me, and I have no method of procuring their whereabouts. Edward promised you a better life for your daughter and you agreed to let him take her from you to bring her here. When you changed your mind and he wouldn’t give her back - ”

“He said she’d be ashamed of me,” Julie whispers, and Hecate watches, throat convulsing as Julie wipes at her eyes with the hem of her apron. “He said she’d grow up to be ashamed of me.”

“Yes,” Hecate whispers. “That is what he said.”

“Why did you stop me that day - in the street? Afterwards. You offered to let me stay and work here. Told me to stay below floors and Edward need never know. Why?”

Hecate shrugs, uncomfortable with her inability to explain. “I fear I don’t know the answer to that.”

Julie gazes at her. “Oh.”

Suddenly aware of the vulnerability between them, Hecate straightens. “I believe that perhaps a culinary rotation should be added to the girls educational roster. Unconventional though it may be. Perhaps on Miss Tapioca’s half-day, starting next week?”

Julie’s cheeks pink and she looks hesitant yet hopeful. “Yes. I’d like that. I think Mildred would too.”

“Perhaps it’s best she knew the truth,” Hecate muses, though the words feel sticky in her mouth.

Julie fidgets. “But what if - what if -”

 _What if he was right_.

Hecate can finish the sentence without having to have Julie say it.

She presses the tips of her fingers into her knees and lets out a sharp breath. “I do not believe, Julie Hubble, that you are the one who should bear any shame.” With a pointed look, Hecate rises, interview over, and Julie does the same.

“Thank you, your ladyship.” She ducks a curtsy. “Perhaps - perhaps she will learn the truth in time?”

“We might be running out of time.”

Julie looks at her and tilts her head. “I know that it’s you who has raised those girls since they were only little. Who as taught them all manner of things, things even the best of governesses would not be educated in. Perhaps not even the best tutor if they were boys. I know it’s you who has tried all these years to arrange to have the best care available to them. And I know I made the right choice.”

Unable to answer, Hecate jerks a nod and Julie curtsies again.

The door clicks shut behind her and Hecate places her hands on her temples, pushing back a rising headache.

She still has governesses to interview.

A lawyer to consult.

Five girls to raise.

She collapses back into her chair and groans.

______

By the time ten o’clock nears, Hecate has a monstrously throbbing headache and the line for governesses, as reported by Mrs. Angler, stretches around the block.

Clearly the notorious Hardbroom name still holds some allure to the educators of England.

She peers out the study window at the street, frowning a papers gust down the sidewalk, borne by a heavy wind.

“Should we be expecting rain today, Mrs. Angler?” Hecate calls and the housekeeper squints at the barometer that Abigail is studiously polishing on the wall of Hecate’s study.

“Strange. The numbers are dipping and diving all over - can’t get a fixed read.”

Hecate lets the drape fall, after one last satisfied look at the black-clothed, severe looking women queuing the in street outside, and crosses, peering at the device.

“Curious. Perhaps we should have that jack-of-all-trades over to have a look.”

“Dimity Drill?”

“Ah. Yes. The tinkerer. See if you can arrange it.”

“Yes, your ladyship.”

Hecate sighs and the clock strikes. “At least one piece of machinery is running as expected.” She pulls out her watch from around her throat and inspects it, satisfied to see it running on time as well. “Bring them in one at a time.”

Angler and the maid depart, and Hecate takes a circuit of the room, hands behind her back as she listens to the way the wind wails and shrieks over the top of the chimney. It’s unusually intense, and she frowns, shivering a little at the forlorn sound.

Restlessly, she settles behind her desk, flipping over the a fresh page in notebook that sits atop it, and preparing her fountain pen. The wind settles and suddenly there’s a woman in the room, striding towards Hecate, her presence bright and intense as the sun breaking through clouds on a stormy day.

“You are the aunt of Mildred and Enid Hardbroom, are you not?”

Hecate accidentally stabs herself with her quill nib.

At her startled silence, the woman says a little impatiently, “I said, you are the aunt of Mildred and Enid Hardbroom?”

“I - em - yes -”

There’s suddenly a paper in the woman’s hand that Hecate is certain there wasn’t before. She tries not to flush at how _pretty_ this woman is. It’s a most improper line of thinking and she clears her throat, gesturing for the paper instead.

“I see you’ve brought your references -”

“Oh,” the woman says brightly. “I make it a point never to give references, a very old-fashioned idea to my mind. I’m sure you’ll find I’m much more modern.”

If Hecate doesn’t know better, she would have sworn the woman just winked at her. She blinks, feeling rather warm and out of sorts, her brain suddenly slow and languid as she fights to regain control of the conversation.

She fails, and the woman presses on. “Now then, the requirements.” Glancing down at the paper she smiles a little. “Item Number One: Kindness. Now that is something I believe in above all else, and I never shout. Item Number Two: Messes. No mess can be made that can’t be unmade, I always say. Item Three: Lovely Outings. I’m partial to the Natural History Museum, so I do hope the girls enjoy science. And I thought we might bring along our sketchbooks.”

Hecate stares at her breathless and befuddled in equal measure.

“As for Item Four: Neighbor Maud -  best friends are most important - so long as chores are done and studies completed first. And Item Five: The girls’ health takes utmost president, though I dare say that caster oil is only to be used on scraped knees and not ingested. I do realize I am speaking to a Hardbroom - of Hardbroom’s Apothecary fame - five generations of fine remedies and medicines, so surely you know the benefits that line of thinking better than most.”

The woman sucks in a breath and then continues on rapidly. “Item Six: Sweets and Treats. I have a fearsome sweet tooth, so rest assured we shan’t be passing up a chance to pop into a shop for a pastry on our outings. And as for porridge, I’m quite in agreement. Best start to the day is with a protein, like eggs, to power the young brain. Item Seven: I do dearly love to laugh, though I can be very firm when needed. And as for chess -  Item Eight - the final requirement,” she smiles and Hecate thinks she looks awfully smug, “I suppose you’ll just have to put me to the test.”

She folds the paper and it’s gone again as suddenly as it appeared. And Hecate rises abruptly, stumbling forward until she brushes past the woman - who smells of roses - to stare into the fireplace.

It’s empty.

“How - how did you -”

“Did you lose something?” The woman says conversationally, coming up beside her.

“I - I -” Hecate stares into the grate and then ducks her head under to peer up the chimney. “How did you get that letter - I tore it up.”

She goes to extract herself and bumps her head quite badly. The woman winces sympathetically.

“Now then, about my wages -”

“Wages,” Hecate murmurs, still distracted. She wonders if she’s hallucinating and stands blinking at the woman who smiles uncertainty.

“You don’t look at all like a governess.” She blurts.

“You don’t look at all like a spinster.”

For some reason it makes Hecate’s cheeks flame, though she can’t decide on why.

The woman lifts an eyebrow and remains serene.

“I shall require every second Tuesday off.”

“Every Tuesday,” Hecate says, feeling dazed. Her stomach keeps flipping pleasantly, even though she feels a hot prickle fizz along the back of her neck at her utter failure to manage the conversation.

Turning, she returns to the fireplace, peering in.

“Your wardrobe.” She can’t manage the rest of the sentence, nor can she believe that any governess worth her rule book would dare appear in a soft pink skirt suit or a hat with daisies on the brim.

“If you don’t like it, I have another one.”

“Good,” Hecate breathes, glancing towards her and then back at the grate, still puzzling over the letter.

“It’s also pink.”

Hecate hits her head again and the woman  once again joins her, ducking down to peer first at the grate, then down and around until her face is very close to Hecate’s.

“Perhaps a trial period would be wise,” she murmurs. And Hecate can count the freckles on her nose. The woman wrinkles it and winks. “I’ll give it through the end of the month. Then we’ll see.”

She pulls back and strides to the door.

“I’ll see the children now.”

Hecate pulls her head out of the fireplace swiftly, whirling around so fast that she has to steady herself on the mantle least she trip over her tangled feet.

“What is your name?” She blurts out, inelegantly flustered.

The woman pauses halfway out the door and smiles in a way that makes Hecate’s whole body flush.

“Pippa. Pippa Pentangle.”

And then she is gone.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have my word.”
> 
> Their eyes meet.
> 
> “I don’t care much for your word, Miss Pentangle, merely your signature.” She pulls the pages across the desk towards her and frowns down at Pippa’s name. The ink is producing an oddly pink shimmer, though Hecate is certain the only ink available on her desk is black.
> 
> “You have that, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this update is short, but it is to celebrate that i signed a job offer today. and im so tired i might never wake up again until my apt over grows with vines and some lady knight comes to save me with a kiss (so aka....never waking up again). so thought ya'll might want to read what i have so far before i conk out literally for good. zzz

And just like that, Pippa Pentangle is in her life.

Her perfume, her bright smile, the way whole rooms seem to light up when she enters.

The way Hecate’s senses light up when she enters.

It becomes apparent that it’s going to be a problem on Miss Pentangle’s very first evening in the Hardbroom household when she sweeps into dinner, shepherding the children in an orderly line before her, and sits down on a pinecone-free chair.

The children stare at Hecate, who at least as the wherewithal not to flush.

“But you always leave our pinecones there,” Felicity whispers from next to her, eyes wide as she looks at Hecate and then towards Pippa, who has settled in her seat with an easy grace, and not the usual squawk that customarily befalls each and every other governess as she sits down to dinner her first night.

“I’m glad you moved it,” Sybil whispers from Hecate’s other side. “She’s nice.”

Hecate purses her lips. “Don’t slouch so, Felicity. And Sybil -”

She means to tell her that her hair ribbon is undone. Or her sash untied. Or her nose running. But the girl looks well ordered and neat, more relaxed than Hecate has perhaps ever seen her, and so she nods at a platter on the table between them instead. “- have some carrots.”

Casting her eye around at the girls, she notes how they all look particularly well groomed - even Mildred's socks are up around her knees where they ought to be. She looks across the table at Pippa who dimples at her.

Hecate drops her spoon.

“Miss Pentangle taught us the most marvelous game this afternoon,” Mildred manages around a mouthful of bread, swallowing hastily when Hecate opens her mouth to chide her. “It’s called Tidy Up the Nursery!”

Hecate frowns, sure Mildred’s being facetious.

“It was wonderful,” Ethel sighs, and she sits, back straight, looking both delighted and smug, which is how Hecate can gauge her level of contentment. It’s rather high this evening, and Hecate fights to keep her eyebrows from rising up her forehead.

“Sybil,” she inquiries slowly, suspiciously, “did you like this game?”

“Oh, yes,” Sybil beams, and glances down the table at Miss Pentangle. Pippa gives her an encouraging smile and Sybil giggles a little, looking secretive.

Enid, uncustomary quiet, works her way through her soup and three dinner rolls. When she realizes Hecate’s staring at her, she shrugs. “What - I’m hungry. Playing is hard work. Can we tidy the nursery again tomorrow, Miss Pentangle?”

Pippa laughs and the sound makes Hecate’s stomach feel like she’s missed a step on the stair.

“I thought perhaps tomorrow we could go out to the park. There’s many more games we can play. And I’m sure,” she leans over and whispers conspiratorially to Enid, “that the nursery will need tidying again in no time.”

Enid laughs, looking delighted, and Pippa catches Hecate’s eye, cocking her head even as Hecate stares at her.

Eyes dropping, Hecate studies her plate, suddenly without much of an appetite. Pippa’s affection with the children is so easy, so natural. They like her so much already, whereas it’s taken Hecate years and years flitting around the edges of their lives, always much to hesitant, too afraid, to get too close.

It’s always come as a rather large relief to have a governess seated across the table from her. To look up and know that there’s a stodgy, old marm slurping her soup and cautioning the children to mind their manners. Hecate’s never thought twice of sharing a meal in this way with another woman. It’s been a necessity, a routine.

She’s certainly never felt this way about the other governesses, to be sure. Never dropped her spoon or tripped over her own feet. Never bashed her head repeatedly in the chimney as she fretted about losing her mind.

Looking up, she watches as Pippa helps show Ethel the proper grip on a soup spoon and fights down a myriad of complicated emotions at the sight.

She’s never been so inclined to stare at a governess before either.

Or felt this breathless and out of her element at her own table.

Dinner suddenly seems an overly intimate affair and she rises abruptly.

“I have business to attend to.” She manages stiffly. “Miss Pentangle, I trust you can see to the children. If there is anything you need, please inform Mrs. Angler.”

She nods at the children. “Good night.”

Sweeping from the room on the mumbled chorus of “Goodnight, Miss Hardbroom,” Hecate flees to her study and shuts the door firmly behind her leaning against the cool wood as she trembles.

She can remember feeling similarly undone, though only five times in her life prior: each time a small, fragile baby had been placed into her arms. And as she’d stiffly held the poor, wailing creature - uncertain of what to do with it, or what her role might be in the squalling, helpless little one’s life - her heart had turned like a key in a lock. Swinging open and allowing tenderness to fill her.

An utterly, overwhelming tenderness.

It frightens her.

And now this woman has shown up and quite single-mindedly taken up residence in Hecate’s life. In her home. And Hecate is helpless against her. Has lost all of her dignity, her authority, her propriety. There’s a sharp ache just behind her lungs just to simply be around her - to share space with her. It’s as if a piece of herself has always been missing.

And she’s suddenly found it in Pippa Pentangles’s warming and easy smile.

It’s an utterly horrifying notion.

“It’s as if she was interviewing me,” Hecate mutters, head lolling back to land heavily against the intricately carved wood as she recalls Pippa's determined presence in her study this morning.

There’s a tap on the door just behind her head and she springs away from it as though shocked by a thousand sparks.

“Y-yes?” Her voice comes out in a waver and she grits her teeth, only for her breathing to double up on itself as Pippa Pentangle’s lovely face appears around the doorframe.

“I wanted to make sure you were quite alright.”

She looks at Hecate - as if she knows that Hecate is, in fact, quite not alright - and Hecate seethes.

This woman doesn't know her.

This woman couldn’t possibly understand Hecate, or her life, at all. Never could. And never will.

She pushes the warmth she feels around the back of her neck down, and every muscle clenches as she marshals her emotions.

“What would lead you to the conclusion that I was otherwise?”

Pippa shrugs, still studying her. “You left dinner quite abruptly. I wondered -” She shakes her head. “I thought I’d check.”

Biting her lip she considers Hecate and the tilts her head to one side. “I sent the girls up, I’ll put them down shortly. I wondered if you would like to join us for bedtime.”

“B-b-bedtime?”

“Yes, bedtime. The girls would love to say goodnight.”

Hecate clenches her fingers so hard that they cramp. “I do not do bedtimes, Miss Pentangle. That is why you are here - is it not?”

“Yes, but I thought -”

“And if is rather presumptuous of you to seek me out and inquire as to my state of mind - is it not?”

Pippa blinks at her. “Very well.”

The look at each other, and Hecate wants to apologize, but it’s easier to cloak herself in anger than succumb to the overwhelming pull she feels to simply sit down, put her head in her hands, and tell Pippa Pentangle absolutely everything.

_Everything._

It draws her mind to matters between them that need to be addressed.

“Miss Pentangle,” she says severely, and gestures the woman in. “If you are to work in my household, you must first sign a legally binding contract that you will not speak to the presses, or reveal any knowledge you might have about the house, the estate, or its residents to anyone outside of the Hardbrooom family, or it’s present staff. It is required of all who work at under this roof.”

She crosses around her desk and produces a sheaf of papers from the top drawer. Pippa follows, and at a pointed look from Hecate, slips into the seat across the desk. Hecate pushes the papers towards her and sits as well, back straight, fingers steepled, watching carefully as Pippa’s eyes zoom back and forth across the lines of the contract.

She expects protestations.

Clarifications.

Pity.

Barely concealed glee.

There always is, she has found.

But instead there’s just a faint line that appears between Pippa’s eyebrows and she signs her name firmly without hesitation.

“You have my word.”

Their eyes meet.

“I don’t care much for your word, Miss Pentangle, merely your signature.” She pulls the pages across the desk towards her and frowns down at Pippa’s name. The ink is producing an oddly pink shimmer, though Hecate is certain the only ink available on her desk is black.

“You have that, too.”

“Good evening, Miss Pentangle.” She says by way of dismissal.

Pippa’s eyebrows lift just slightly, a look Hecate cannot interpret, and she’s gone, the door closing softly behind her.

Hecate collapses back in her chair, pulling the piles of documents brought to her via her meeting with the lawyer and scrubs at her face. She hasn’t time to worry about Pippa Pentangle. She hasn’t time for anything.

Not when the future of her girls is a stake.


End file.
